


Return to Nonsense

by melissfiction



Category: Solar Opposites
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Korvo used to be a painter, M/M, Mutual Pining, One-Shot, Oral Sex, Phone Call Flirting, Plant sex, blowjob, consent is always sexy, some angst ngl Korvo rly do be going through it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissfiction/pseuds/melissfiction
Summary: "What are you wearing?"That was an odd question, considering Korvo consistently wore the same outfit every day.
Relationships: Korvotron "Korvo"/Terry (Solar Opposites)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	Return to Nonsense

Before Terry called him, Korvo was sketching out a blueprint of the nuclear polar sensor. It was one of the many appliances in the ship that was on the fritz and, annoyingly, had no manual. This blueprint was a sidequest compared to the ever-looming specter haunting him with every doubt—figuring out how to make the ship fly. He still remembered the butterflies in his stomach the day he was given the keys to the ship, beaming at it like a shiny new toy and swearing to his altar that nothing would ever happen to it. Everything happened to it. All he saw now was a Sisyphean boulder that tumbled down the mountain every time he neared the peak. 

As the light strokes of his white pencil connected into rectangles and squares and obtuse angles on the blueprint, he thought back to a time when it used to be meticulous brush strokes melding shades of off-white against a blue canvas. He used to be a painter. He would willfully distort objects onto a two-dimensional realm and play the role of an illusionist, tricking the viewer into seeing a scene, a message, a communication of colors forcing perspective down their throat. There was a time when he unknowingly set his brush down for the last time. All his old paint tubes dried up. A palette was exchanged for a toolbox. 

It wasn’t a conscious decision to stop painting. Korvo wished it was. At least then he could claim resolution, have some closure, pretend that science was his true calling and he was never good at painting in the first place. Closure wasn’t in the Shlorpian curriculum, though. He could make his diagram into a picture, add some gray shading on the left and put white lighting on the right, but he knew he would quit it all over again. Everything Shlorpian occurred in a cycle. He wasn’t ready for that, yet. 

He set down the pencil and set his sights on fixing the turbo blasters, but that was when Terry called. Another sidequest he compulsively embarked on. Korvo waited until the third ring (force of habit, he didn’t want to seem too eager even though it was obvious by now that he was), then answered. 

“Yes?” 

The other end was unusually hesitant to respond. A muffled giggle drowned out the anxious pounding in Korvo’s chest. “ _Hey, Korvy._ ” Terry’s voice was in a low, teasing whisper. Terry was keeping a secret that he might just tell if he was in the right mood. “ _What are you wearing?_ ” 

Odd question, considering Korvo consistently wore the same outfit every day. “My robe.” He looked over to the rack of ray guns to see if the Dumb Ray was missing, but no, Terry had asked that question with his full, unaltered intelligence. Despite this, Korvo liked this conversation. Terry’s voice was pleasant to listen to when he wasn’t speaking in paragraphs about a squirrel he saw in the parking lot. Out of politeness, he asked, “What are _you_ wearing?” 

“ _Guess,_ ” Terry dared. 

This was another one of Terry’s silly games, but Korvo needed this distraction. He needed a break from the trauma of escaping his exploded homeworld. “Hmm…” Last time he saw Terry, he was still fast asleep in his pajamas, undisturbed by the twittering of birds and light draft from the opened window. Terry was awake now, so he must have changed into one of his bright funny slogan shirts. That was the logical conclusion. Every day, Korvo was pressured into deducting logical conclusions. Maybe that was why he stopped painting. “A white gown. With gold leaves embroidered at the waist.” 

Terry didn’t laugh or call him silly or point out that he had no such thing in his wardrobe. “ _Sounds pretty, but no, try again._ ”

Korvo was usually never the one who was humored. Whenever people thought he was funny, it was either at his expense or unintentional. It felt nice, trying to manipulate someone for the better. To be liked. Korvo usually wasn’t nice and he hated it. “A leotard with a pink tutu.” 

“ _Well, I guess you’re kinda on the right track? But no. Think… less._ ” 

Think less. Terry was the only one who wanted that from him. Terry saw him at his most primal, his most thoughtless point, and he liked it. He had shot Korvo ten times with the Dumb Ray and still enjoyed his company, probably even more. Maybe that was why Terry only kissed him when he was drunk. Maybe Terry would like to see one of his paintings, one day, when he finally gets the courage to enter a cycle again. “Shirtless?” 

“ _Mhm! What else?_ ” 

Korvo wasn’t sure where this was leading. Not knowing made it all the more distracting. “Um… Shorts? Underwear?” He wanted to be rewarded with more snippets of Terry’s alluring voice over crackly phone static. 

“ _Think less._ ”

Korvo wiped the sweat off his palm against his robe. “No shorts?” 

“ _Mhm. What else, baby?”_

Korvo was too sober. His imagination flooded him. “No underwear?” 

_“Come find out._ ” 

Terry hung up. 

Then, Korvo was like a moth to a flame. He abandoned his blueprint, abandoned the turbo blasters, abandoned his fear of cycles, and went down to the bedroom to find out what conspiracy Terry was plotting. He turned the brass doorknob and pushed open the white door to find Terry sprawled out on the bed—no shirt, no shorts, no underwear—with his left hand lazily stroking his root. Korvo’s first thought was to shut the door, pretend he saw nothing, but it was too late. Terry was already sitting up, he already had his eyes on Korvo, he was already consuming Korvo’s form with an inviting smile. 

“Come here, baby,” Terry said. Almost lovingly. Only almost, because the Pretend-o-Deck simulation showed Korvo what Terry sounded like when he talked to someone he truly loved, and Korvo knew an evacuation partner would never compare to a lifemate. It made Korvo wonder if Terry had that same realization that there was a time when he kissed Terri for the last time. 

Korvo wanted “almost _”_ to be good enough. He shoved his boots off and claimed the spot to the left of Terry—his side of the bed. There was an unspoken rule that they had to be territorial, but now, their limbs were crossing over into each other’s sides and unspoken rules were as good as forgotten. Terry’s hands got to work on unbuttoning the robe, but after the third button, he stopped. 

“Do you want this?” Terry asked. 

This was Korvo’s first time hearing that question. It was a variable he never had to factor into his calculations. “I don’t know,” he answered. Stupidly. He wished Terry would hold him down and force this on him, hands pinned over his head and tongues lapping up needy moans. There was already so much to think about, so much to repair, and Korvo couldn’t handle it all. He remembered flying into the void, away from their exploded planet, and wondering if there was a mistake and he should’ve been left behind to dissipate. He felt like a thin stream of sand sinking to the bottom half of an hourglass, counting down the seconds in miniscule grains. He felt like a finite medium trying to convey an infinite universe. 

“Don’t think. Just pick one, tell me yes or no. Yes or no?” 

Korvo gave his answer in a kiss. Eyes closed. He felt like he’s been turned upside-down and shaken around, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing Terry and sending away all his abstract anxieties. He liked Terry. Almost loved him. He yearned to push the boundary of “almost” farther. Korvo tore down the rest of the buttons and tossed his robe away, into Terry’s side of the room, and kissed Terry again before he could have a chance to think about any more last times. 

Terry pulled away. “Tell me you want this. We can stop any time.” 

“I want this,” Korvo swore. “I need this.” 

Korvo emphasized his point by crawling down in between Terry’s legs. He put the tip of Terry’s root in his mouth, just the tip, and tasted a faint floral nectar as he swirled his tongue around the tip. He thought that today could be the day when he could finally see in color again and sugar could taste sweet again and he could finally wake up from his dream within a dream. There was a swell of pride when he heard Terry moan softly, then a hand was pushing his head down and hips were bucking up. Korvo took more of Terry’s length into his mouth, almost gagging when the tip wriggled at the back of his throat. 

Terry couldn’t stop himself from mouth-fucking Korvo. “ _Fuuuuck_ ,” he moaned. Korvo’s mouth was so hot and wet around his root. It felt so good using Korvo’s mouth for his own pleasure. “Korvy, baby, that feels so _good_. You’re doing so good, baby.” He moaned louder as he pushed himself deeper into Korvo’s throat. Hearing Korvo gag gave him a kind of sick, sadistic gratification. 

Korvo went back to sucking on the tip, to give his throat a break, and looked up at Terry. It wasn’t the most flattering angle, but he still saw the bliss in Terry’s expression. Korvo spit on the root and continued sucking up and down, watching Terry writhe and groan. Those shaky breaths were intoxicating. Right now, Terry only belonged to him. He wasn’t Shlorpian, wasn’t a Pupa Expert, wasn’t someone’s lifemate—he was the one fucking Korvo’s throat raw and loving every second of it. 

Korvo sucked harder, then Terry lost control all over again. He held the back of Korvo’s head with his warm palm and fucked into Korvo’s mouth until a final deep thrust later, he was cumming his nectar down Korvo’s throat. Terry groaned as he felt Korvo swallow around him. Korvo relished as much of the sweet nectar as he could, but the rest spilled out of his mouth all over Terry’s mound. He licked up the leftovers. 

“Your turn?” Terry offered, after catching his breath. 

Korvo crawled back up to Terry’s side. The left side, of course. The right side was sweaty. “No, I, uh, I think I’m good.” 

Terry gently caressed Korvo’s cheek, then kissed it. They laid down together, facing each other. “Hey.” 

“Hey?” Korvo greeted back. 

“Um. I think...” Terry changed his mind. Now wasn’t the right time. Instead, he gave Korvo a thumbs-up. “Good job.” 

“What?” 

“What?” Terry echoed back. 

“You were going to say something else.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Terry said. He hugged Korvo to his chest. He knew how much Korvo enjoyed the post-sex cuddling, even though Korvo never had the guts admit it out loud. “How was your day?” 

Korvo hesitated. “It was fine,” he lied. There were a lot of things he wasn’t prepared to talk about, just yet, but he liked that Terry gave him the opportunity to lie about it. Knowing that he was still strong enough to lie about it was comforting, in its own way. “It was fine,” he repeated, with a slight emphasis on the last word, as if it would make it any more true. He draped his arm over Terry and listened to the rhythm of Terry’s heartbeat. He was still tense, didn’t know how to release it all the way without alcohol, but the reassuring circles Terry rubbed on his back helped. 

It was only 3 in the afternoon, but evidently, Korvo did a _really_ good job and Terry knocked out quickly. The impending doom whispering at the back of his mind quieted down in Terry’s embrace. Korvo felt butterflies in his stomach whenever he cuddled with Terry. They slept in the same bed every night, but it was only after sex that they let themselves cross the invisible border in the middle of their bed to cuddle. At that moment, this brief snapshot amidst a boundless, omniscient ocean of time, Korvo felt like their almost-love had merged into real love. These minutes were too brief. Their affection was too temporary. So, he slipped out of Terry’s embrace and dug into the drawer of his nightstand for a pen and scratch paper. All he could find was a folded-up manual for the dorsal capacitor fan, but that was good enough. 

Korvo sketched Terry’s sleeping form. Reality was always so fleeting, but this was a reality he wanted to immortalize in scratchy black ink strokes, hesitance with darker decision lines interspersed. He couldn’t take back any lines, and maybe it was better like that, because then he had a record of movement, an unadulterated stream of consciousness spilling onto the manual, covering up instructions on how to operate the fan. No rough drafts. He thought Terry was beautiful and this was his celebration, his oath to preserve it. He sketched Terry and did not stop until he also sketched the folds of the blanket around him, the empty Pepsi cans on the nightstand, the open window and the gray rooftops framing the bottom of the sky outside, the shadows, the dark crevices, but especially the soft sunshine falling on Terry’s back like ethereal angel wing blessings from the heavens. 

Korvo wondered how he ever thought there was a better waste of time than imprinting his love for Terry with ballpoint ink scribbles over tiny print. 

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT'S UP GUYS hope you enjoyed that one! Don't forget to leave kudos, comment, and SMASH that bell for notifications (jk idk how to follow writers on this website tbh)
> 
> Tell me what you liked! Tell me what you want! I am open for requests!!


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